Raising Hell
by Liz011
Summary: Shortly after the end of Season 8, Abaddon approaches Naomi about an alliance. Originally published on my tumblr.


"What do you want?" asked Naomi, not looking up from her work.

"An alliance," replied Abaddon, settling into the chair and putting her feet up on the desk.

Naomi looked up, annoyed but intrigued. "I thought that vessel was destroyed," she commented, as her eyes travelled up Abaddon's long legs, to her black "Devil made me do it" t-shirt, past the stitches where the Winchesters reattached her head, past her morning-after lipstick, and came to rest finally on her eyes.

"Knight of Hell; I pulled a few strings. Word on Angel Radio is that you're dead."

"And yet I still can't get a few minutes of quiet." She nudged Abaddon's boots away from the report she had been reading. "So why would I want an alliance with you?"

Abaddon swung her feet to the floor and leaned forward, her elbows now blocking Naomi's report. "We share some common enemies. You and Crowley are tense these days, and I won't serve him. If I become Queen of Hell, and you're in control of Heaven again, as I suspect you are, we can present a united front against the Winchesters. Together we could rule everything-Heaven, Hell, and Earth."

"Crowley is no threat to me, and I have the Winchesters under control."

"Having them under control is not the same as eliminating the threat. What happens when they realize that you lied, and that the only way for Sam to survive this is to have the courage to complete the trials?"

"What happens is that Hell gets sealed off so you're out of my hair forever," Naomi replied cooly, "And Crowley will be human, leaving the throne vacant for you." She tugged at her papers, but Abaddon just put more weight on her elbows. Naomi sighed and stood up to pace the room.

Abaddon followed, refusing to be shut down. "With Hell sealed off, the Winchesters will have that much more time to focus on you-and don't think they won't hold a grudge! You need me!"

Naomi turned to look Abaddon in the eye. Abaddon took a deep breath. "You need me," she repeated firmly, "Until you have a guarantee that the Winchesters can't come after you, you need Hell to distract them. They've had it easy with Crowley running things. He lets his army fight on too many fronts. We kill him, they're set back on the final trial. I take the throne, bring the army under my control, we call a truce and unleash the full fury of Heaven and Hell on them."

"You keep saying 'we,' but it sounds like you're asking me to do all the work to put you on the throne and just trust you'll hold up your end once you're there."

"Killing Crowley is child's play," Abaddon laughed. "The only reason I haven't done it yet is that I have business I want to attend to first. My top priority is ensuring I don't need to spread my army too thin when dealing with the Winchesters. You'd be wise to do the same."

Naomi considered this. Eliminating the Winchester threat had never seemed like a viable option; they always found a way to come back. But if she weren't at war with Hell, she might be able to finally find a permanent solution. She resumed pacing and asked, "How do we eliminate the Winchesters?"

Thankfully, Abaddon now seemed content to stand in the center of the room and let Naomi pace freely. "We kill them, obviously," she answered, "And I lock them up in Hell."

"Castiel will be a problem. He's braved Hell before to bring them back."

"So we kill him too," Abaddon shrugged.

"It's not that easy. He has a nasty habit of not staying dead."

"Alright, then we find a way to lock him up. Either way, if we're discussing tactics we seem to be working as allies."

Naomi's pacing had brought her back behind her desk, where she now stood facing Abaddon. "I'd have to be a fool to trust a demon."

"I'm not asking you to trust me," Abaddon declared, stepping up to the desk and leaning over it to invade Naomi's space again, "I'm asking you to work with me."

Naomi leaned forward, refusing to flinch. "Very well then. Let's make you Queen of Hell."


End file.
